One Love, One Lifetime
by sparklyscorpion
Summary: A collection of unrelated Raoul/Christine one-shots from various versions of the story.
1. Precious Memories

_I'm starting to go through my old drabbles and seeing which ones can be cleaned up for posting - this is the first, but not the last! :) Originally titled "Children No Longer" and only one hundred words, but I've added a bit to it._

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 **Precious Memories**

 _Summary: Leroux-based. Christine returns to Perros-Guirec after graduating from the Conservatory, but nothing is the same without her childhood companion by her side._

After Christine graduated from the Conservatory, Mama Valérius proposed that they travel to the Breton shore again to celebrate, just for a week or two, before Christine started at her new position in the chorus of the Opéra Garnier.

It had been quite some time since either of them had left Paris for more than a couple of days; Christine had had her studies to occupy her time, even though she'd felt no particular enthusiasm for them, and Mama's strength was beginning to noticeably fade. It was becoming painfully clear to Christine that Mama's days were limited, with only a few good years left, perhaps, before she, too, was gone. Once Mama passed, Christine would be truly alone for the first time in her life. She wasn't sure that she'd be able to stand it, so she said nothing and only smiled when Mama talked about the vacation, because Christine knew that it would most likely be their last.

Perros-Guirec _looked_ the same - the sky, the sand, the choppy sea, the rocky shore - but Christine knew that it wasn't, because Papa and Raoul weren't here. Her papa was dead, and Raoul...well, Raoul was so far out of her reach that he may as well be, too.

Mama was weak and tired from the journey to Perros, leaving Christine to entertain herself most of the time. But the entire town haunted Christine to the point of near madness; she couldn't find peace anywhere, no matter how she tried. The salt in the air reminded the young woman of Raoul, dashing and young and carefree, rushing into the sea to save her red scarf. The winding cobblestone streets made her recall how she and Raoul had begged for stories as young children, as desperate for them as a starving man was for a loaf of bread.

She spent several afternoons in the cemetery at her father's gravesite, alternately weeping and sitting in stony silence, but Christine found no solace there, either. She missed her papa terribly, and yet she was already beginning to forget the sound of his voice.

In desperation, Christine tried to take comfort in the gardens, but there the cruelest memories lurked, waiting to be rediscovered. It had been here, on this bench, that she and Raoul had spent their last afternoon, their lips talking about nothing and yet their hearts beating in the same rhythm. It had felt like something new had formed between them, tender and sweet, and yet it would never be allowed to bloom. She could still feel Raoul's lips brushing against her palm, still hear his fervent declaration that he would never forget her…

Christine had fled to the gardens a girl that day, and she had left them a few hours later as a young woman, her soul aching for things that would never be. Even then, starry-eyed as she had been, Christine had known that there was no future for them, at least not together. Raoul would do his duty to his family, just as she would to hers.

Maybe, someday, their paths would cross again in Paris - Raoul with his elegant society wife on his arm, Christine on the stage - and their eyes would meet, just briefly, and they'd both think of what could have been in another time, in another place. That shared dream, and the precious memories of their childhood, would be the only happiness they were allowed.

"I won't forget you, either," Christine whispered to herself, curling her hand into a fist and pressing it against her chest. She hadn't been able to say the words aloud then - Raoul had been quick to take his leave after their shy embrace, and Christine had been afraid to call after him, afraid of letting him know just how much he had meant to her, too.

But perhaps, just perhaps, the same wind that now tore at her hair and swept the bitter tears from her cheeks would find Raoul, wherever he was, and carry her words to him, letting him know that she, too, shared his longing for the impossible.


	2. Sempre

_ALW stage show themed this time, and written in dreadful present tense (I went through a phase, sorry). Yet another old ficlet from many years ago that has been polished a bit._

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 **Sempre**

 _Summary: ALW stage show based. A small fill-in scene; after Christine and Raoul escape from Erik's lair, Raoul confronts his failures and his future._

Raoul is hopelessly lost by the time they reach the second fork in the tunnels. It had been easier somehow when he'd been spurred on by terror, his pulse pounding in his ears as he'd navigated the labyrinth with nothing more than rushed instructions from Mme Giry and the furious shouts of the Phantom guiding him. But now it is deathly silent, save for the murmurs of the mob and Christine's whispered directions. How many times had she been down here? And he'd wasted so many months trying to convince her that there was no Phantom of the Opera, no danger, no threat…

That nonexistent threat had nearly killed him tonight.

He doesn't know what to do after they reach the far shore, so Raoul does nothing except cling to the pole as if it is his only connection to the world. When Christine at last touches his shoulder, he shies away from the contact, embarrassed. He had promised to protect her from that monster, and yet he had been powerless - not only to stop her abduction, but to help her once he'd reached the lair.

Raoul doesn't realize that his hands are shaking and cold until Christine takes them in her own - surprisingly warm, considering the chill in the air. He won't meet her gaze, not yet, so he glances down at their joined hands, remembering how useless his had been. They are hands that have held swords and pistols, hands that have bloodied lips and noses in his younger days, but tonight those hands were completely worthless.

Her fingers trace the red outline that still circles his neck, a vivid reminder of the noose that had been there only minutes before, the noose that will undoubtedly haunt his dreams for quite some time. Raoul is ashamed. He'd charged into the catacombs of the Opera to save her, because that was his duty, his promise to her; in the end, she had been the savior, and he the saved.

"Raoul?" Christine's voice is only a whisper, but it is unnaturally loud now that they are away from the approaching mob.

He doesn't want her to see him like this, but Raoul won't let himself be a coward as well as a failure, so he hazards a peek at her beneath lowered lashes. Her face has been washed of all color except her lips, and he stares at them so he doesn't have to meet her eyes. She seems uncomfortable with this, and idly he wonders if she thinks he is condemning her actions tonight, the kisses that had set them all free.

He only condemns himself.

Why hadn't he _listened_ to her? Why had he insisted that she be used her as bait in a trap? He loves her, and when he'd thought the choice was between her freedom and his life, Raoul had been more than willing to sacrifice himself for her sake. Just as she had done for him…

"I love _you_." Her desperation saturates the statement, and Raoul is so surprised by the neediness in her voice, so uncharacteristic of his strong fiancée - stronger, he finally realizes, that he'd even guessed at until tonight - that he finally looks into her eyes, which are filled with tears instead of accusations.

She seems to be waiting for him to say that nothing has changed in their relationship, while he knows that everything has. He sees her differently now, and it must be the same for her, as well. But her eyes still reflect the truth of her statement; she truly loves him, in spite of how spectacularly he has failed her this night.

"You're…" Raoul brushes the back of his hand against her hair, the curls loose and tumbling down her shoulders. He takes a deep breath before gazing into her eyes again, his words raw and hoarse. "Extraordinary. I can't imagine my life without you."

She smiles at him then, her lips quivering. "You won't ever have to know what that's like, Raoul. I want to grow old with you."

It is such a precious gift - the chance to age with this woman, to father and raise her children, to hold her every night, to watch her dark hair turn silver - a gift that he hadn't been sure of a mere half an hour ago, a gift worth far more than any fortune in the world. And now she is his, as he is hers, never to be parted again, except by death. His Christine...

Something inside of his chest breaks, and when he throws his arms around her and pulls her close, he can't distinguish between her sobs and his own.


	3. Warmth

_Written for a tumblr prompt: "I'll keep you warm." Prompted by wheel-of-fish - thanks for being your awesome self! I wrote this in ten minutes and was a little bit inebriated while doing so, so please forgive any typos/etc._

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 **Warmth**

 _Summary: Leroux-based. Raoul is less than pleased by the prospects of the long, cold winter that is ahead of them, but Christine thinks they'll manage just fine._

It was the first snowfall of Raoul's first winter in Norway, and all he wanted to do was stay inside, preferably as close to the fire as possible. But his wife seemed to have other ideas; she was practically vibrating with joy as she watched the fat flakes tumbling to the ground.

"Let's go outside," she murmured at last, sounding as excited as a child might upon receiving an unexpected, yet delightful, present. "There won't be much that sticks on the ground, but we can at least run around and try to catch some snow on our tongues."

"No." Raoul shivered and snuggled deeper into the blanket that he had draped around his legs that morning. He had never been north of Breton in previous winters, and he hadn't realized that Norwegian ones would be so blasted _freezing_.

"Please? It'll be fun." Christine's blue eyes were shining as she turned towards him, and Raoul knew that he was about to lose this fight. He was rendered powerless when she fixed him with that look, unable to deny her anything.

"I don't think that it'll be _fun_ ," he muttered a bit too petulantly, playing along with her little game now that he knew that he would be giving in soon. "We're more liable to catch our deaths from the weather."

Christine laughed for what felt like a solid minute. "It's barely cold enough for it to snow outside, Raoul! If you think this is bad, just wait until it's January."

"I'll probably be frozen to death by then." He fought against the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips.

"For shame! When we met again in Paris, you were about to be sent to the North Pole. It's even chillier there, Raoul." Christine gave him a mischievous grin as she sashayed towards him, swinging her hips with every step. "If you're so concerned about your health, I promise that I'll keep you warm." She allowed her fingers to trail over over his shoulder before rubbing her thumb just under the collar of his shirt. "I'm sure we can find _something_ to do that will warm us both."

He tried to pull her in for a kiss, but his little northern sprite was too quick for such simple traps. Christine pulled away from him, giggling as she raced towards the front door. She ran out into the snow without even a cloak, and Raoul found himself shaking his head as he jogged after her, not bothering with his own coat.

The chase would keep him warm enough, and once Christine allowed herself to be caught, Raoul was certain that neither of them would care that they were freezing in the snow for quite some time.


End file.
